Forced Hand
by Unbecoming
Summary: Robert makes his threats and Rosalind responds.


They had argued before, of course. But never quite like this-never quite with such.. vitriol. Debates were to be expected when two minds as great and similar as their own met, it was almost healthy, and more often than not it brought about new ideas and avenues for them to explore-together. But what he was suggesting-no, _threatening_ , didn't leave much room for together. Rosalind froze when he said it, it visibly knocked the wind out from her-and then she froze, neither of them quite sure if she would ever catch her breath again. The flush in her cheeks from the effort of a raised voice drained away and she felt her knees give away slightly. In all honestly, Rosalind was quite certain that the next thing that she would see was the ceiling-and Robert must have thought it too, because he started forward, hand out stretched at the height of her waist as if to support her, despite the shock on his own face. Clearly he had been expecting himself to say it even less than she had, or maybe he simply imagined that she wouldn't have cared so much. Though that could hardly have been so, or else he would never have said it in the first place. She found her strength and matched him, stepping back, her lips drawn in a tight line so she no longer looked the picture of shock-now, rather her eyes filled with what looked to be betrayal. He could almost see her brain working to calculate her options, verifying that she had indeed heard what he had said correctly. Eventually she turned, and walked away, picking up her skirts rather delicately with one hand as she climbed the staircase, her other gripping the bannister with white knuckles, belying her tension.

He followed her, his brow furrowed, and spoke with a sense of urgency and desperation, his tone tinged with regret-"So, will you help me?" The "me" was important. It was the last thing he had over her, he was using it to remind her and she knew it. She didn't turn around but she did stop mid way up, finally seeming to regain some of that breath from before. "It seems as though I have little choice. Yes, I will help you." Her words were clipped, and he grimaced at the hardness in her tone-it was one she usually reserved for those men and women who were unfortunate enough to receive only her greatest ire-though he was eventually able to smile, letting out a sigh of relief after a moment of silence, about to thank her when she spoke again. "I do not appreciate having my hand forced like that, Robert." There was still no give in her expression, but he tried to deescalate the situation as he thought best-"come now, Rosalind-I done simply what was necessary." He reasoned. She could have laughed-bitterly, but laughed nonetheless, amused by his pathetic use of logic to try and remove his sense of guilt-instead, her temper flared-"Necessary?! You crossed a line, brother!" It was then that he finally understood the extent of the damage he had done. This wasn't something as simple as the soreness of losing an argument that they both could be prone to, but easily coaxed out of after a bit of sulking. This was a deeper hurt-and he remembered once again the flash of betrayal in her eyes, it stinging more this time as he realised the rarity with which she ever let herself show such raw emotion outside their most intimate of moments.

He observed her carefully-there was a slight tremor in her hand as she lifted it to fix her hair-a visible sign of her trying to regain composure, and there was a resignation in the way she held herself-her back a little too straight, her posture a little too good-as if she had almost expected this disappointment, this almost apostasy of their relationship. But then it was gone-and he realised as she picked up her skirts to once more climb the stairs that she was retreating in on herself. He had used her feelings for him against her-a breach of trust more painful to her than the time he publicly disagreed with her, her critics on the board delighted at her embarrassment. She had turned out to be right of course-but what good was being right when there were a room full of men telling her and the world that she was wrong-her own, dear brother amongst them. She had done the same then, on a staircase of marble as she swore to herself that she wouldn't allow such a thing again-she wouldn't allow herself to be vulnerable again. And yet she had-and she would again, because he was him. Even if it meant their certain death, she would risk it because it couldn't be worse than being parted from him.

Robert bit his lip as the wood creaked under her step-"are you to bed, sister?" He asked tentatively, causing her to smirk wryly to herself, hiding it as she turned to face him at the top of the stairs, he starting to climb the moment she said "I am." Again, he gave a sigh of relief-"then I shall join you." It was harder for her to hide the bitterness playing on her lips this time, but she managed it all the same, the pull at the corner of her mouth almost invisible even to him-he who had studied her so well-"I believe the settee in the study is more than big enough to accommodate you tonight, Robert." She didn't bother saying goodnight, simply disappearing into her room with a dignity that he had never seen before-but that, despite everything, only made him admire her more.


End file.
